Three Last Words
by PeanutButterGremlin
Summary: Things have been changing between the two of them, and past experiences have Jack convinced that Riddick doesn't want her around anymore. She couldn't be more wrong.


- Disclaimer -

I don't own Pitch Black, or any of the characters. Sad, but true.

- Note -

I started out writing this in third person point of view, then switched it for first and decided it sounded better. The entire story will be from Jack's point of view.

**Three Last Words**

Chapter One

Outside it is raining, the water pouring down over the cockpit windows and thundering against the outer hull of the ship with a dull roar not unlike a waterfall. Occasionally there's a flash of lightning that briefly illuminates the port outside the glass, followed swiftly by the menacing rumble of thunder. Inside the ship the atmosphere is dark, full of shadows and almost gloomy. The majority of people would have found it to be depressing but for me the stormy weather is mostly calm and soothing.

I sit here in the copilot's seat, arms wrapped securely around my knees as I stare at the water running down the glass, counting the seconds in-between the snaps of light and the thunder. The only thing better than sitting here watching the rain is running around in it and splashing about in the fresh puddles. It's childish maybe, but it's maybe the only good thing I can recall from my brief stint as a kid. I want desperately to just go out and stand there on the pavement, maybe just under the edge of one of the wings with the runoff of the rain pouring down over my head.

But I'm not allowed outside, not by myself and definitely not on a planetary slum like this one. There are too many dangers for a lone sixteen-year-old to fall into. It doesn't matter that this is just about the only kind of planet that frequents the itinerary, even on the relatively safe planets I'm not let out of this confinement.

It hadn't bothered me much, those first few months of traveling with Riddick. I reasoned with myself that it was a good idea but then time wore on. I becamerather good at defending myself, how could I not when I had the best possible teacher? But the rules haven't changed. Reflecting back now, I wonder why I never threw it into an argument, but the answer floats to the surface without much thought. Somewhere in my subconscious is the reasoning that, if I argue or don't follow his rules, Riddick will leave me behind.

The last thing I want is to be stranded on a strange planet, alone. The thought of it scares me even though I know that it will happen sooner or later. Someday he'll get tired of having me around, someday my mere presence will become an annoyance to him. On that someday he will vanish, never to return. So I hold back my arguments and try not to throw too many sarcastic comments his way. Sure, there were times when we could joke around and laugh, but those times have grown increasingly infrequent over the past year.

Someday is coming soon.

I bite my lip, pulling my knees in closer to my chest and burying my face in my arms. I don't want to think about this now but the thoughts slip in anyways. I remember how it was, in those first few months. I could joke and smile like I was just the kid he kept calling me and Riddick would follow suit, grinning and making sarcastic comments back like the best friend I'd never had. Those days, I can safely say, were the best days of my life. I was happy and, for the first time in all my life, I'd felt like I was actually wanted, loved even.

I don't know what changed, but sometime after I turned fifteen the jokes and smiles began to wane. I wasn't sure when I first noticed it, but after a while my quips went ignored and my smiles went unreturned. It was a cold day when I realized that things weren't right, when I realized that he wouldn't want me around forever. It had shattered that feeling I'd had of being loved into a million pieces. I cried that day and I can feel the tears slip past even now. It always came back to blaming myself, a practice that started long before I'd even met Riddick.

I can recall the shouts and shrieks my mother used to make when she was in her worst drunken state, because everything was my fault. There was never any concrete reason except my mere existence in the world. If a plate broke in the dishwasher it was my fault and if my mother got fired from her job it was my fault. I have scars from my mother's beatings, abuse that I put up with for seven years until the woman wrecked her car and died of the injuries. I survived that same crash with my mother's last words of bitter wisdom echoing in my mind.

Those words continued to sting me every time the foster families I got tossed in with decided to dump me off some place else. After the tenth one I made the decision to run away and take my chances in the world. My first foray into the universe ended in the disaster that was the Hunter-Gratzner. It was there I first met Riddick, escaped convict, murderer, and possibly the only person in the universe who understood exactly what I felt. Or at least I thought he did. I can't tell anymore, can't understand him and the long silent stares he gives me whenever I speak.

It isn't like the foster homes or my mother where they told me outright that I wasn't wanted and maybe that's what makes it worse. He isn't going to tell me, just leave me. I've asked myself why I'm waiting for him to abandon me instead of just leaving on my own, but that thought causes a wave of pain to crush my chest every time it rises up. I've made the same mistake I've made with each and every one of my foster parents. I've let myself get attached, let my hope that maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright, get in the way of logical thought.

Now it's too late and either way I'll hurt forever. Maybe this pain will be enough to make me numb, maybe I'll learn not to be so caring after all of this is over.

I hear the creaking rumble of the outer hatch clanking open and lift my head. Quickly, I wipe my eyes and face free of the tears, unfurling myself from the chair. I rise and stretch my arms over my head, casting a glance at the rain still pounding against the window. The calm is gone, lost in the whirlpool of my thoughts. All that is left is the hollow ache in my chest. I turn to move out of the cockpit, but my eyes fall on the doorway just as Riddick walks in, causing me to freeze.

He is scowling as usual. It's a cold day in hell when there is anything but that expression on his face now. His clothes are soaked, dripping water all over the floor, and there is a fresh cut marring the skin of his shoulder. The rain seems to have washed it clean though now there is some blood seeping out of it, dripping down his arm. I look at it, then back up to his face as he strides across the room.

"Want me to get the med kit?" I ask, but he ignores me as he steps past. I watch as he climbs into the pilot's seat, yanking on the safety restraints without so much as a word or glance in my direction.

A thousand reasons for why launching a ship in the middle of a thunderstorm is a bad idea flit through my brain, but I bite back any quips knowing that now is not the time to be making sarcastic comments. I sit back down in the copilot's seat and snap on my own harness as the ship begins to power up. I glance at the monitors but don't touch anything. Riddick doesn't need my help piloting. Sure, he's taught me how to fly in case of emergency and I guess that I'm an alright pilot since he hardly ever made any bad remarks concerning it. But he's a solo flyer, navigating and manually maneuvering without so much as a wink of help from anyone else.

The engines roar as he throws the throttle forward. I hear the control tower shouting over the comms just a few seconds before he slaps them off. The press of gravity shoves me back in my seat as the ship makes its ascent through the atmosphere. The storm tears at the hull, causing the ship to shake more roughly than usual. A glimpse at Riddick's face is all I needed to see to know that he is extremely pissed off about something. His jaw is clenched tightly and even with his goggles on I can tell his eyes are narrowed into tiny slits.

The ship breaks free of the atmosphere a few seconds later, hurtling into the emptiness of space. There is a brief moment of free fall before the gravity simulator kicks in, my stomach flopping as it does so. Not even three seconds later does the hum of the jump drive greet my ears and a wave of terror wash over me. Before I can even contemplate what's going on, Riddick has thrown the ship into a star jump, breaking several laws in the process. As abruptly as the jump began, it ends, and I try to force myself to breath again. Turning to look at Riddick, I notice his arm is still bleeding.

"Riddick?"

"What?" he snaps, turning his scowl on me. I manage to keep myself from flinching at his harsh snarl.

"You're bleeding," I point out, struggling to keep my voice from trembling.

I'm not exactly afraid of him, but I am afraid of what he can do when he's pissed off and definitely do not want to be on the wrong end of his bad mood. I watch as he glances down at his shoulder to take in and assess the injury. His scowl deepens at the sight of it and he lets out a low growl, causing a shiver to run down my spine. I can remember a time when that same growl had made me laugh some three years ago : hide and seek when he was the seeker and I was trying to come up with the perfect hiding place.

I can feel the tears starting to well up again and shove them back, biting my lip; I don't see him get up or leave the cockpit but a second later I can hear him rooting through the cupboards for the med kit. I turn just in time to see his retreating back as he stalks off to the bathroom. It's another thing that has changed. It has been months since he's even stayed longer than five minutes in the same room with me.

Another sign that he no longer wants me around.

Unbuckling my harness, I stand up again and make my way slowly towards my cabin. I hear Riddick curse somewhere in the bathroom as he stitches himself back together. The stitches will be messy and leave a scar. I want to go in, take the needle from him, and do it myself. My stitches, back when he actually let me help fix his injuries, are much neater and don't leave any heavy scarring. It's something I'm quite proud of, my medical abilities, but it's worth next to nothing now. The way things are going, there's no point in even bringing attention to my own existence.

Sighing, I walk through the door to my cabin. Paused there, just inside the frame, I stare at the contents, realizing in that one moment that it isn't really my room at all. It's the room I'm allowed to keep in so long as Riddick wants me around.

A sudden crash behind me startles me out of this particular revelation. I turn back into the hall and move towards the bathroom. The door is cracked open but of course there's no light streaming out. Pushing it open a little wider, I peer inside. The splintered reflection of my own face stares back at me. He's broke the mirror, or, to be more accurate, he's punched a hole in it. The med kit is sitting on the counter, but Riddick is sitting on the floor, teeth gritted as he focuses on stitching the gash that mars his arm. I kneel down in the doorframe to stare at him, noticing that, just as I previously thought, he's doing a rather messy job of it.

"You want me to do that?" I ask quietly, not wanting him to snap at me again. He ignores me, continuing on as if he hasn't even noticed my presence. Frowning, I look down at the floor for a moment. My eyes catch on his fisted hand, little pieces of bloody glass are sticking out of the skin on his knuckles. Concerned, I reach forward, picking off one of the biggest pieces. His fist clenches tighter, pulling away from my hand as I move to peel off another of the minuscule shards.

"I'm just trying to help."

"Don't need your help," he growls in response, leaning his head to bite off the string, finished with his stitches. They are crooked, so unevenly placed that a scar is inevitable even if they are redone in a neater fashion. I stare at them, his words only emphasizing my earlier contemplations. Backing away, I retreat back into the hall towards the cabin that's not my own, pushing open the door again.

I pause once more before going inside, glancing back towards the bathroom in time to witness him slamming the door shut. Spinning on my heel, I do the same. There's some kind of pain in my chest that makes me feel like screaming for every serrated emotion that's tearing through me right now. I throw myself onto the bed, grabbing up the pillow and folding it over so that I can scream into the fabric of the pillowcase. The sound isn't entirely muffled, but it isn't as loud as it might have been.

Shrieking at full volume would have gotten me in trouble I'm sure of it.

I clutch the pillow to my chest, not really feeling any better. Tears are leaking down my cheeks again but I do nothing to wipe them away. Instead I stare bleary eyed about the cabin, my gaze falling on the closet. The door is slightly ajar and inside I can see my clothes hanging awkwardly on the hooks. There is an empty duffel bag crumpled up inside as well and suddenly I'm moving, my limbs unfolding themselves from the pillow.

In a moment I'm standing in front of the closet, pulling out the bag and stretching it out. I reach forward and take one of my shirts off the hangar, staring at it for the longest time, then shoving it in the bag. The motion is repeated with every other article of clothing contained within. Once that is done I cross over to my dresser, yanking open the drawers to dump the contents in the pack as well. It is almost enough to make my tears flow harder to realize that the entire contents of my life fit in one bag.

I don't know when we'll land again, I don't know where we're going, but wherever it happens to be, I'm going to leave and try not to look back. It'll be impossible to forget everything, futile really. There are things that I'll miss, things I already miss.

Like movie night.

I go back to the bed and grab the pillow again, burying my face in it so it will soak up my tears. The bag I leave on the floor, still open. A wave of exhaustion washes over me. I don't bother trying to fight it, instead I let it take me into the less than perfect world of my dreams.


End file.
